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Page 19
"Yes, it must be done. I will do it," she thought. "He loves her. I will
not stand in the way of his happiness. No; I had rather die."
And she took a sheet of note-paper, and wrote these simple words:
"DEAR CLARENCE,--I do not believe you love me any more. I can never
be your wife. I know your secret. I know you love Marie. I have
seen it often in your eyes. Be happy with her, and forget me. May
you be very happy, always. Good-bye. BETH."
She took it herself to the Mayfair home, knowing that her father would
only think she had gone out for a morning walk. The smoke-wreaths were
curling upward from the kitchen chimneys as she passed down the street,
and Squire Mayfair looked a little surprised when she handed him her
note for Clarence, and turned to walk away.
That sleepless, tearless night had told upon her, and she was not able
to come down to breakfast. Her father came in, and looked at her with a
professional air.
"Just what I told you, Beth. You've worked too hard. You need rest.
That's just what's the matter," he said, in a brusque voice, as he put
some medicine on the table and left the room.
Rest! Yes, she could rest now. Her work was done. She looked at the
sheet of manuscript that she had taken last night to show Clarence. Yes,
the work was done. She had reached the end of her story--the end of her
prospect of marriage. Ended her labor--ended her life-dream!
As for Clarence, he read her note without any emotion.
"Humph! I didn't think Grafton was the fellow to make mischief so
quickly. A tale-bearer! Well, it's all for the best. I made a mistake. I
do not love Beth Woodburn. I cannot understand her."
Beth slept, and seemed much better in the afternoon, but she was still
quite pale when she went into her father's room after tea.
"Dear old daddy," she said, putting her arms about his neck, "you were
always so kind. You never refuse me anything if you can help it. I wish
you would let me go away."
"Why, certainly, Beth, dear!" he said briskly. "Isn't that just what
I've been telling you? Stop writing all day in that hot room up-stairs.
Go off and have a frolic. Go and see your Aunt Margaret."
And so it was settled that if Beth were well enough she should start for
Welland next afternoon. She did not see Clarence during the next
morning. It surprised her that he sought no explanation, and before
three o'clock Briarsfield was a mere speck in the distance.
CHAPTER VIII.
_THE HEAVENLY CANAAN._
Nearly two months later Beth returned home. Marie had broken off her
visit abruptly, and Clarence had gone away. It was a rainy Saturday, and
Beth sat waiting for her father to finish his rounds. Her visit had
refreshed her, and she looked fairly well again. After all, she had so
many bright prospects! She was young and talented. Her novel was
finished. She would read it through at once, making minor corrections,
and then publish it. With all youth's hopefulness, she was sure of fame
and worldly success, perhaps of wealth too. She seemed to see a rich
harvest-field before her as she sat listening to the rain beat on the
roof that summer afternoon. But, after all, she was not happy. Somehow,
life was all so hollow! So much tangle and confusion! Her young feet
were weary. It was not simply that her love was unreturned. That pained
her far less than she would have thought. It was that her idol was
shattered. Only in the last few weeks had she begun to see Clarence
Mayfair as he really was. It was a wonderfully deep insight into human
nature that Beth had; but she had never applied it where Clarence was
concerned before, and now that she did, what was it she saw?--a weak,
wavering, fickle youth, with a good deal of fine sentiment, perhaps, but
without firm, manly strength; ambitious, it was true, but never likely
to fulfil his ambitions. The sight pained her. And yet this was the one
she had exalted so, and had believed a soaring genius. True, his mind
had fine fibre in it, but he who would soar must have strength as well
as wings. Beth saw clearly just what Clarence lacked, and what can pain
a woman more deeply than to know the object she has idealized is
unworthy?
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